West Coast Chronicles
by DeathBladeVI
Summary: It has been months since the NCR defeat at Hoover Dam at the hands of the Courier. With the destruction of the Mojave Outpost, a new cult starts it's holy war against the New California Republic. One man must try and stop them before they destroy him. The
1. Mojave Wasteland I

**I adopted this story from ejwrites. He's m****y cousin, who's name is Ej as well. I also changed my pen name to DeathBladeVI. Please read and tell me what you think. **

_"The tendency to claim God as an ally for our partisan value and ends is the source of all religious fanaticism."_**  
**

_Reinhold Niebuhr _

_Prologue _

The rising red sun seemed to clash against the shore, while the stoic mountains with white snow melting at the top stood guard. PFC. Lucas Sanderson, of the NCR Army, was your typical grunt. Guard duty along the NCR-Mojave Confederacy was always tense, though his Securitron counterpart was was not showing any emotion. The service rifle in his hands wanted to take a scratch at the machine of death, but Lucas knew better.

He cursed the dirt on the Mojave Outpost, as the Securitron moved from left to right, the gatling laser occasionally erupting to take down an ant or bark scorpion, and the two Rangers shaking hands above him glared down, and Lucas expected them to clamp down on him any moment. The few square buildings of the Outpost held caravan drivers and several NCR border guards, all waiting for the eventual call back home. The NCR was expanding against the Legion in the south, while the NCR under the command of General "Wait and See" were attacking ghosts in Baja. How the NCR managed to keep going, well, it was a mystery to Lucas.

"Mother of God, please send me back to Cali." he muttered under his breath, as he moved his gloved hands to his rifle. A bark scorpion was scurrying towards him, its pincer at the top wanting to kill him. He waited for it come closer before raising his rifle and firing off three shots, all of them connecting. The bark scorpion's hide was now soaked with blood, and its head was now showering blood and bone.

"Good shooting." and gruff voice said, and it made Lucas slightly nervous. It belonged to the C.O of the Mojave Outpost, a real son of the NCR, a Ranger by the name of Jackson. He was a real tough cookie, and had fought at the First Battle of Hoover Dam, where he took down several Legionnaires with the Rangers Takedown move.

"Thanks Ranger Jackson." Lucas responded, before continuing his shift. It was now around midday, as the orange sun beat down the merciless wasteland, a caravan was beating down on the old asphalt of the I-95, when an ear splitting rifle shot sped across the wasteland. The smoking barrel of a massive .457 rifle was poking out across the sandbags on the Mojave Outpost's barracks, and a dead raider was slumped across a rock, where he had been hiding. The Veteran Ranger, one of the few still left in the Mojave then lifted the rifle from the sandbag and handed it to a stunned Ranger Ghost, where her pale complexion was getting paler by the second.

Lucas then watched as the sun dipped down, partially hidden by the mountains rising in the west, and whistled. A scrawny looking kid of about seventeen years of age ran from under the shade of the giant statue and jogged slowly towards him.

"Yes PFC Lucas?" he asked. The kid had been stationed at the Outpost for sometime now, though he was nervous and looked around, as like a hidden sniper was watching him at all times.

"Your on duty. Get your rifle and stand guard. You know the drill." and the kid soldier executed a sloppy salute before running off towards the barracks, almost knocking down a brahmin that had wandered from its merchants. Lucas chuckled softly as the kid skidded into the barracks, opening the door, and ran inside. A few seconds later he flew out of the barracks and was back in less than thirty seconds.

"Good luck kid." and Lucas headed to the bar, where most likely he would be getting drunk. As he opened the door to the bar, the smell of unbathed bodies, piss poor alcohol, and the fresh desert air mixed in with vomit rushed to greet him with open arms. The loud radio was singing _Ain't That A Kick to the Head, _while an NCR soldier was passed out, reeking of alcohol and drugs. Kneeling with disgust, he prodded the soldier with his combat knife, before smashing his fist into the guys stomach. The soldier groaned in pain from the punch, though the Med-X running in his body allowed himself to lessen the blow.

"Wake up!" Lucas yelled. There was another thing about Lucas; He was a former MP at the Strip, and he always made sure that he had a melee weapon. He missed his cattle prod, where he was able to shock soldiers and gamblers for being drunk out of their minds and dancing in the Ultra-Luxe fountain.

"I'm waking up..." the NCR soldier got up and groggily danced his way to the barracks before collapsing onto the bed. Lucas chuckled before taking a seat at the bar, and a black lady in a red shirt with a leather jacket with a cap on her head poked her head above the counter.

"Hows it going Mr. MP?" asked the lady, silently laughing. Lucas slightly blushed at the nickname, for it had been his ever since he had arrived at the Outpost. He had been at the Outpost for a little over a month, since the end of Hoover Dam. The mention of the battle brought a scowl onto his face. The Courier. Lucas spit at the former NCR Intel Bureau operative; he had killed Caesar with his bare hands and tossed the head at the feet of Hsu. But at the end of the day, the allurement of wealth and status swayed him, and now, well he was the head of the Mojave Confederacy's Special Forces, a mixture of former NCR Rangers and disillusioned Frumentarii of the Legion, that had been swayed by the ever convincing Mr. House.

"Good. Securitron was giving me the creeps, but what is else new Lace?" the slight Spanish accent came out, while his rough brown eyes traveled up and down on Lacey's body.

"You checking me out." she then put her hands on her hips, making Lucas jump in the air a few inches, before calming down.

"What evs." he said cooly, before the two bursted into laughter. Lucas and Lacey were cousins, and it was a trick they always played on the on the new soldiers in the bar.

As the two were about to talk even more, an explosion ripped through the desert night, bringing a small flash through the windows of the barracks. Knocking Lucas on the ground his head was slammed against the bar counter, jarring his head and making his thoughts and mind swim. As the small flash subsided, he regained a little composure allowing him to make settle his head. What in God's name was that?

"Owww." he whispered and looked around him. The bar was in total disarray, with bar stools and tables flipped, bodies sprawled everywhere, and the stink of death reaching his nose. The roof was caved in, bringing in sandbags and the body of Ranger Ghost, her skin now darkened. Lucas grimaced, for he had joked that she had needed a tan. The stench of failure began to ripple through his body, and he saw several lacerations across his body, a shallow cut that bled every time he put pressure on it. Burns traveled along his body like a highway, while his nose was slightly bleeding. He felt fine, besides the dull pain in his shoulder where the cut was. Groaning in pain, he stared in horror in as the body of Lacey was lying on the floor. He then ran towards Lacey, before stopping.

"What about the rest of the Outpost?" and he rushed out of the barracks, ignoring the pain in his body, the adrenaline in his body making him go on overdrive. The Outpost was utterly and effectively destroyed. The twisted metal of the Monument was everywhere, and small fires licked the buildings. Dead and burnt bodies were everywhere, what the Trinity happened? Lucas wasn't a particularly religious person. But the destruction of his temporary home brought a sense of dread. What was used to destroy the outpost?

His question was answered when a slight shimmer caught his attention. It was someone using a stealth boy to survey the damage. Leaning down, he reached down to his holster, where his 10mm pistol laid waiting for use. Though it wouldn't do much damage to the foes that caused the horrific carnage, he would at least have small comfort that he had went down with a fight.

Crouching behind a fallen beam, he aimed the 10mm at the shimmering light, before it deactivated. It was a heavily armored version of the Chinese Stealth suit, the orange visor practically screaming enemy at the NCR soldier. Lucas then fell flat on his stomach, the 10mm never leaving its target. The person continued to survey the damage before speaking into a small radio that was attached to the arm of the suit.

"Phase I is done. The success of the weapon has been tested. The Path to salvation has started. The NCR will feel the wrath of the Skywatchers! Long live the God of the Stars!" it boomed in a metallic voice. The person then drew a Chinese shock sword, electricity rippling and sizzling.

"Surrender disillusioned. The path will be open. The NCR will see the path to salvation. The Skywatchers will please the God of the Stars." and fear ripped through Lucas body, before outrage overpowered it. '

"No!" Lucas yelled, before pulling the trigger. The 10mm bullet rocketed out of the chamber, the bronze colored method of death spiraling towards the masked intruder. The bullet pinged off the armor like a rock against a building.

"Pathetic." the voice said and Lucas shuddered in dread. The person then advanced, ignoring the bullets streaming out of the pistol. Lucas screamed, trying to get away from the machine of death, but it was too late...

The sword slashed at his armor, emitting an electrical shock into him. His wound was cauterized as the sword sealed it. The shock trooper that just gutted him then plunged his sword right into the base of his neck, easily passing through his neck armor. Gurgling, Lucas spit up blood, before falling face first into the dirt.

Darkness enveloped him. He saw his grandfather, in all of his infinite wisdom, smile out of the gates of heaven...

Before plunging feet first into hell.


	2. Capital Wasteland I

**Quick Author's Note: I have put some of my stories on hiatus. Such as Winter's Lord: Rise of the North, Fallout: The Thrice Damned, Hidden Dragon, The Only Easy Day was Yesterday, Men of Rome: Cry Havoc. These stories are important to me, but the other ones are the ones that I would like to continue to write about. Thanks for DumpsterHobo for following the story!**

_" Real living is living for others." _

_-Bruce Lee_

In the closing days of the Enclave-Brotherhood of Steel War, Liberty Prime was destroyed and the remnants sent to the Citadel. In the five years that followed the end of the war, Liberty Prime was rebuilt with tech scavenged from the Enclave, materials from factories, and bunkers that were founded by tech scavenging teams. But even with all the tech, only the torso and the arms were rebuilt. Democracy was not going to have her most loyal son for a long time.

In a small shack that was cleverly concealed off the main road that lead to Washington D.C, a lone man was sitting on a pre-war chair, his combat boots placed on top of a wooden table that was scorched and burned. Black hair the color of a raven's feathers was cut short in order to discourage lice, cold blue eyes that told of tales that were horrid, and a nose that was so crooked that it had to be broken in several fights. The man was wearing a duster coat, the color of olive green, with ballistic padding underneath to form a barrier that was lightweight and able to deflect low caliber weaponry. Black jeans were pulled up to his waist, while a black rifle that was inscribed with the words _Exactus Acta Probat. _The Outcome proves the deed.

A radio wailed in the background, a low sad jazz tale that played with a rich bass voice.

_I don't want to set the world on fire..._

_I just want to start a flame in your heart. _

The man was tossing a throwing knife up and down, the sharp steel glinting in the low sunlight. Soon, a creak from the other room was heard. The man stopped throwing the knife up and down, smiling broadly. Soon, the door was swung open, the door protesting the swinging motion. A small girl, only about four years old, with the same raven black hair, the same cold blue eyes, and had a small and wiry frame. She was wearing a white shirt and black jeans as well.

"Daddy, when are we going to Megaton?" she asked, her voice innocent and playful.

"We are heading back there as soon as my friends come," the man said in an uncaring voice. His voice was harsh and hardened after years out in the wastelands, but underneath was a tone of caring for the little girl.

"The Brotherhood of Steel?" she asked, yawning. The Brotherhood of Steel had extended it's control from downtown Washington D.C to the outskirts of Megaton. Many communities had joined the Brotherhood, providing materials and bodies in exchange for protection. Megaton refused to join the Alliance, but the two factions were on good relations with each other.

"No. The Regulators sweetie. Then after that, you'll be staying with Mommy until I get back from the mission," the man said, spinning the knife again.

"I don't want to go with Mommy! I want to go with you! She is never there and is always busy with her duties!" the little girl complained. The man chuckled, a dry rasp that was devoid of humor or emotion.

"I have to go sweetie," and the little girl looked at him with contempt. "Listen Black Raven. I have to go, or people out in the other parts of the world are going to suffer. I have to go and stop them, in order to make the world a safer place. If I don't, then I will not be able to protect you, Mommy, or other people. I have to go and I am going to come back. I promise Black Raven," he said, the last part softly. He then got from up the chair, slamming the knife into the table. The steel blade jutted from the wood upwards, while the man approached the little girl.

"Listen Firefly, I love you and your mother. I will come back, so do not worry your little head about it. Before you know it, we will be playing Hunt the Mutant in the Atrium again."

"Promise?" she asked, her eyes wide.

The man let out a laugh before he bent down and gave the little girl a kiss.

"I promise. Now, go get your boots on, we are heading out now," and the little girl skipped back into the room, getting her boots. The man then stole a glance at the room, watching her hum a tune from Galaxy News Radio.

He then knelt down and slammed his fist into a loose floorboard. The floorboard flipped over, revealing a set of stairs. Going down the set of stairs, it was a wide space. In total darkness, he turned to the right and flipped a switch.

Like when God said let there be light, a switch was flipped, and soon light flooded the room. It was wide and spacious, with the usual walls and floor. Except these walls were full of weapons. Assault rifles, combat shotguns, sniper rifles, all kinds of guns, energy weapons, every kind of weapon. And then there was the three mannequins that held armor.

The first one held an armor that was the color of forest green. Ballistic padding cover most of it, the shoulder blade armor was extended. Spikes jutted from the shoulders as well, made of deadly metal. The armor was finely made, obviously fined tuned. The second held a suit of vault security armor, with the massive 101 on the back. It was a modified form of the vault security armor, just mixed with the armored vault jumpsuit. Combat harnesses had leather pads around the shoulder area and the knees. The third held the fabled T-51b power armor. The man had worn it in the battles against the Enclave, and even when it was heavily damaged, he had repaired it, but let it rest here, for until the end of his days. Letting his hand run over it, he then walked over to the wall. A black revolver, with gold designs of dragons crossing it, and the name _Dragon of the East, _was inscribed on the barrel.

"Father..." the man muttered, before flipping the revolver into his holster. Moving to the next wall, this one held melee weapons, from a simple switchblade with the words _Butch's Toothpick _engraved on the rotting wooden handle, to a massive steel super sledge. Grabbing a simple sharp sword with Chinese characters, the man sheathed it on his belt. Bandoleers of ammo were slung across his chest, .44. Revolver ammo, .457, where in his belt as well. A pack that held survival items was already on his back, and as soon as he walked back up the stairs, he looked back. A single glare was seen.

_His Pip-Boy. _The thing that he had since he was a boy. Sighing, he looked at it with unease, before descending down the stairs once more. Grabbing it, he placed it on his left arm, the area between the his elbow to his wrist. He winced as the needle pinched itself right into his vein. The screen was silent, before words started to appear on it.

_Booting..._

_Connecting to RobCo Satellite..._

_Complete..._

_Operations system scans...complete._

_Welcome back Hadrian Freeman Serial number 2234-3424..._

_Blood Type O-_

_Height 6'2._

_Weight 167 lbs_

_Hair Black_

_Eyes Blue_

_Race Hispanic_

_Age 24_

_User is in good health, little radiation, no gene defects. WARNING, MUTANT SERUM EVIDENT IN BODY _

_FLUSH Y/N?_

Hadrian quickly pressed the N. The Serum, or the Mutant serum as the Pip-boy called it, was the only thing that kept him alive. After the events of Project Purity, his body had been swarming with rads. It caused his body to replace most of his genes with radiation filled genes, that allowed him to stay in radiation filled places, allowed him to be healed by radiation, and other things. But in a little over forty years , he would become a ghoul. The effects would start to hit in five to ten years, hair falling out, skin becoming more like a ghouls, but the entire thing wouldn't finish until he was around the age of sixty. The serum helped delay the effects of him becoming a ghoul. He had no problems with ghouls, but it didn't mean that he wanted to be one.

After strapping on the weapons and fiddling with the Pip-Boy, he ascended up the stairs to see his daughter waiting. Smirking, she spread her arms wide open, and he chuckled, before picking her up. Placing her on his shoulders, he opened the door to the shack, and closed it shut. The little girl squealed with delight as she bathed in the sun's rays. The wasteland was quiet, the late morning sun shining as usual, and the bleak surroundings of the Capital evident.

Waiting outside. the olive green duster billowing slightly in the wind, Hadrian looked at the little girl.

"Sylvia," and the little girl looked at him with her cold ice blue eyes." When we go to the vault where mommy is, I need you to promise me something."

"What is it daddy?" she asked, her eyes widening.

"I need to take care of Mommy. She's a little sick and I need you to help her out. So that means listening to her, okay? And make sure to keep Dutch out of trouble. I don't need that little guy messing around and causing trouble," Hadrian said. The man was referring to the five year old son of Butch DeLoria and Susie Mack, a product of a drunken night. He was a little devil, causing trouble, and Butch, living his dream of leading one of the most dangerous mercenary companies out there, (called the Tunnel Snakes of course), he didn't have a lot of interaction with people. Kids his age were rare, but with the vault's new policy of letting settlers in, there were about six kids in the vault that were between the age of four and six.

"Why is she sick Daddy?" she asked innocently, and Hadrian's mind drifted to the last time he visited, which was about a week ago. Yeah, he thought, let's not tell her _just _yet.

"I don't know sweetie. Ask Mommy when we get back there."

Hadrian then messed with the dial to his Pip-Boy, switching to the radio channel option. Selecting Galaxy News Radio, he enjoyed a fast upbeat jazz tune. After that had ended, the disc jockey of the Capital Wasteland roared through the radio.

_GOOD MORNING CAPITAL WASTELAND. It is I, Three Dog, your voice in the darkness. We come at you with a special announcement. Brotherhood of Steel forces, the Paladins in shining armor, have struck a deal with the Outcasts. These two had been fighting each other for years, and now suddenly, these two are buddy buddy. Now, far from me to question this, but how the hell can two warring factions suddenly strike a deal? It may be that new Elder, the one the only, Sarah Lyons. She's been doing a lot of good for the Wasteland, so I ain't questioning anything! Also, we have startling reports from my main man Black Sheep in California. I know, crazy right? There's been startling reports of a cult burning down villages in a nation called the New California Republic. Rumors are that the one, the only, that's right, the Lone Wanderer is heading there himself to check it out. That's it folks, your disc jockey is out. What's a disc, I don't know, but I'm going to keep talking anyways. Now here's Roy Brown, and why, you should never trust a guy with a long sharp knife. _

And soon a jazzy and fast beat tune rocketed out of the radio. It was followed by a melodic voice.

_Hey Everyone, did the news go around_

_About a guy named Butcher Pete..._

"It's about time you guys showed up," Hadrian said. If there was one thing he missed about the Pip-Boy, it was the HUD. Displaying his health, ammo count, map, and a tracking device, the Pip-Boy was a handy tool for detecting friends or foes. In the shadows that masked his shack from the naked eye, three figures were seen.

"Sorry it took so long. Raiders up near Fort Independence tried to ambush us. Had to clear the entire area. Was fun though," a very bass voice said. It flowed like milk and honey, obviously used to being a silver tongue. On the Pip-Boy, under the section called skills, Hadrian's own speech was around 20. He wasn't a man that spoke with a silver tongue. He was used to lying, but he was always blunt with the truth.

"Good. Keep an eye on the shack and the section of the highway. Slavers are trying to take over this part of the highway in order to ambush caravans for slaves. If I find one piece of equipment missing, I'll hunt you done, skin you alive, and leave you for the Deathclaws," his voice was his usual harsh self. His daughter was still on his shoulders, humming along to Butcher Pete.

"Hadrian, we ain't go steal nothing! We cool man, we cool!" an annoying high pitch voice replied. Hadrian let loose a ghost of a smile, that was only evident to the little girl.

"We promise. We know what you do to the people that double cross you," a slick feminine voice sang. It was seductive and passionate, but Hadrian was a married man.

"Good. Make yourself at home. I got work to do, and I will be gone for at least a couple of months." and the three figures nodded, before heading into the shack. Hadrian and his daughter started heading up the road, towards the north.

A couple of hours later, Hadrian was on the outskirts of Megaton. Armed guards, dressed in leather armor and wielding hunting rifles were stationed in crow's nests all over the walls of Megaton. Stockholm, the ever vigilant guard of the gate, waved to them.

"Hey Hadrian! Some vaulties came and said they were looking for you. Sent them to Moriarty's," the black man said in a heavy southern accent from up from on top of the gate.

"Welcome to Megaton. The bomb is perfectly safe," came the same robotic whine that Hadrian heard every single time he visited the city. Hadrian nodded, his tanned skin taking in more sun. The jet turbines that powered the gate whined as they pulled the gate open, letting the duo in.

The town had grown. More and more people were moving into Megaton, making it one of the great towns of the Wastes. Established as a caravan base as well, mercenary companies were based there, allowing Megaton to face a boom unlike anything it has ever seen. With the need for room, Megaton had taken over Springvale, driving out the raiders and making the school their secondary government building. It also meant that the defense had to be expanded, and five dozen people joined the Megaton militia. Over three hundred people lived in Megaton, making it in the second most populous settlement in the wasteland, right after Rivet City, which held around four hundred.

His house, the one that he stayed in when he visited Megaton, was still situated above the Brass Lantern, and the Stahl siblings were working. Business had exploded, and they had purchased the deceased Mister Burke's place, allowing for a second venue to open. People were sitting on the bar, being serviced by Jenny, dressed in her yellow jumpsuit as always.

Marching up the walkway to Moriarty's, he opened the door to see the usual scene. The stink of alcohol, piss, and throw up. About a dozen people were getting wasted, three sat on a table next to the bar playing cards, and three people in vault issued security armor where leaning against the wall.

"Hadrian. It's been a while," the lead one said. He was Hispanic with black hair and around Hadrian's age.

"Freddie. It has been a while. How's life with the kid and the wife?" Freddie Gomez was the prodigy of Stanley, the new technician of the vault. Stanley was still alive and kicking though. Hadrian and Freddie were best friends, even during the time when Hadrian was being picked on by the Tunnel Snakes.

"Christina is alright. She's depressed due to her mother dying a few days ago, but once that's passed, she'll be fine. Herman is doing alright as well. How was Adriana?" he asked. Hadrian looked at the little girl with pride.

"She was great. Had a lot of fun. Why did you guy's need to see me?" Hadrian asked. Though he was friendly with Freddie, he had business to do, and he needed to be cut short.

"Amata asked me to tell you that she knows where items you need are located. It's in a bunker about twenty miles east of Rivet City."

"East?" Hadrian looked skeptically at the man.

"It is in a former United States Naval Fueling Station. Records pulled from the main Vault-Tec computer show that the parts for Prime are there. All you need to get is a ride there. How you are going to be able to do that, I have no idea."

Hadrian did not know why he lived a dangerous life. All he had to do was turn in his duster and live within the vault. But then how empty would his life be? He loved Amata, and when he was older, he would retire and live with her in peace, but he was a wanderer. But he didn't fight for just himself. He fought for his family, his friends, the people of the Capital Wasteland.

"I got friends that can help."

**So long chapter. Was not expecting it to be this long. We all know who Hadrian is, and more reasons why he is going to the NCR will be revealed shortly. Next chapter will introduce our main character. Preview is that he is young. **


	3. Mojave Wasteland II

**Thanks for the review DumpsterHobo01. Glad to see this fic still has it's first (and only)fan still interested. Though Sylvia Adriana Freeman is not Sarah and Hadrian's kid...Here is the next chapter. I love tanks, especially WWII era German Tanks. Best damn tanks in the world during the time. Here is the next chapter. **

_"This is a fight between a free world and a slave world." _

_Henry Wallace_

_ "If we desire to avoid insult, we must be able to repel it; if we desire to secure peace, one of the most powerful instruments of our rising prosperity, it must be known, that we are at all times ready for War."_

_George Washington __  
_

_"The Art of War is simple enough. Find out where your enemy is. Get at him as soon as you can. Strike him as hard as you can and keep moving on."_

_Ulysses Grant_

_"War is hell."_

_William Tecumseh Sherman_

_"We make war so we may live in peace."_

_Aristotle_

_**"**War, war never changes."_

_-Anonymous _

Camp Hope was what used to be the premier New California Republic Army base in the Mojave;before the withdrawal to California, it used to house three battalions, several rangers, and was the home of the Heavy Troopers Corps. Now it was being patrolled by what some people called "t.v on wheels." Robots that were stocky and rectangular in shape, with a cartoon of a gruff soldier chomping on a cigar on it's screen. The mono wheel whirled as it did an about turn towards the entrance to the camp.

The Courier had kicked out the Legion, Mr. House, and the New California Republic out of the Mojave. He had access to all kinds of resources, troops, and a power base that was the envy of people everywhere. He did not squander it, he did not waste it. In fact, he was always planning. Currently, the Courier was traveling down the I-15, passing right by the 188 Trading Post. But he was not alone. He was riding on top of what the databases at the Lucky 38 had called a M60 Patton Medium Battle Tank. It had been found in an abandoned National Guard Base right on the California border. The Californians had wanted it, but with the Securitrons weapons pointing towards the Mojave Outpost, the New California Republic had decided they were going to allow the Mojave to keep it.

The Courier was a man of action and vision. He was just like Mr. House; except that he had killed him in order to save a friend. Veronica, the ever upbeat scribe, was also sitting on the tank, her hood up as she looked down; she was reading a tattered copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird. _Her long black hair was covered by the hood, no one allowed to see.

The Courier, dressed in his usual Elite Riot Gear, was next to her, sleeping on the tank as it rumbled right into the Trading Post. Months ago, after the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, he had realized that his Securitrons had a weakness. That weakness was EMP weapons, that could short circuit his robot army and leave him shorthanded. So, using funds that he found in the Lucky 38, he had founded the Mojave Armed Forces. The Army, which was made up of the Westside Militia and other militias in the Mojave; The Air Force, which was made up of the Boomers and their B-29 and the planes scavenged from Camp McCarran; and the Desert Marines, made up of volunteers and defecting Rangers and Legionnaires. How he managed to pull that off, no one , but in doing that, he had made one of the most potent forces the post Great War world had ever seen. And finally the Armor Corps, which was made up of the Brotherhood of Steel.

"Courier...Courier. Six! Jake wake up!" Veronica yelled. The tank had stopped. The Courier looked through his helmet, and seeing the 188, he sprung up from the tank and leaped down. Making sure the All-American Marksman Carbine was loaded and ready to fire, he strapped it on, while Lucky was strapped to his thigh. Three combat knives were strapped to his ankles, boots, and belt, just in case. Bandoleers of ammo crisscrossed his chest, while combat boots were encasing his feet.

"So...why did we go here Veronica?" asked Jake. His voice was deep, but was a little innocent. Jake was by no means naive, being shot in the head helped him with that, but he still sought to see the good in mankind. Whatever shreds of it he could find.

"We had to go here because some of the Brotherhood is worried about the New California Republic. Our scouts on the borders have seen troubling reports. We have vacant towns and villages, NCR Army formations being recalled from the border...We don't know what is happening. We wanted to meet in the 188 just in case. It's neutral territory, the Brotherhood radicals don't dare attack us here, especially so close to Boulder City and the garrison at Hoover Dam," Veronica's voice was somber. For months, he had been fighting a shadow war with the majority of the Paladins of the Brotherhood of Steel, who shed their Power Armor and destroyed them; in fact, they had destroyed all the suits of Power Armor. Jake was astonished when they did that, because to them, tech was their god.

The Paladin Order of the Brotherhood of Steel was reduced to just seventeen. The rest had fled to other parts of the Mojave. The reason they had split was because they wanted Helios One and the Securitrons. Jake had refused Head Paladin Hardin, and with that the Paladins had left except for a loyal few. And with that came a new threat from the North. The Empire of Nevada, it was called, was a country that had been expanding all over Nevada. They wanted all of Nevada. Jake, being the good nature Courier, refused. Several hundred Mojave Army troops had been sent up north in order reinforce the border; it was not pretty.

The Courier shook these thoughts out of his head. He needed to meet with the Brotherhood. Heading towards the bar, he saw three Desert Marines in their signature Desert Ranger armor. They were modeled after the Marines of old, and they were deadly efficient. In the middle of the 188 were three Brotherhood men. Dressed in combat armor MK 2 and sporting energy weapons, one could tell they were Brotherhood.

"Ahh. Courier Six, we meet once more. Please sit," the first one said. He was a middle aged man, perhaps around the age of fifty or so. His hair was silver with grey spots appearing, and he wore the robes of an elder. The other two were in combat armor as previously stated.

"Yes. I hear you have information that was to sensitive to be told over radio. I have to hurry along, the Empire has been stirring along the North, threatening Nellis. Good thing we have two airbases," the Courier said with a grim seriousness. The other man chuckled darkly, before becoming serious once more.

"Of course. As you know, the 3rd Recon Battalion has been deployed along the mountain range that separates us from the New California Republic. That includes the Mojave Outpost along with the the usual Robots that accompany them. Three days ago, we lost contact with the robot border guards. Squads sent to check up on them disappeared, and finally, using the authority invested in me by you, I asked Mother Pearl to do a flyby with the B-29. The Outpost was completely destroyed. No survivors it seems, and the people there were killed by atomic weaponry. We then sent another squad, this case Desert Marines, and we managed to see that only one person survived the blast. Private First Class Lucas Sanderson, we managed to find out by his dog-tags. He had several lacerations, severe radiation poisoning, and several broken bones," the man said with grim resolve. The Courier looked at him.

"What else Elder?" The Elder cleared his throat before continuing to speak.

"He wasn't killed by that. He was killed by a single sword thrust. It also seemed that he was electrified before he passed. And the Securitrons based nearby, it was found, to be destroyed as well. By a laser weapon that seemed to magnify the damage of the chambers by over three hundred percent. About as potent as a Gauss rifle at point-blank range. But it didn't destroy the camera of the Securitron," and with that the Elder pulled out a file. Sliding it to the Courier, the Courier opened it. It was a grainy picture taken by the Securitron, of the destroyed Mojave Outpost. The Ranger Unification Statue was destroyed, fires licked at the remains of the buildings. It also had an image of a figure in heavy black armor. The armor had an orange visor, and clutched in his hand was a sword that sizzling with electricity. What seemed to be a modified Fat-Man was on his back, loaded with what was another Mini-nuke. But the Courier had no idea what kind of power it had. How could a single Mini-Nuke have that much damage?

"So it seems that we have a new enemy in the midst. Do you think it could have been the Brotherhood radicals?" the Courier asked. Though the Brotherhood Radicals had strayed from firing on civilians and the New California Republic, Jake did not let them off the hook.

"No. Brotherhood, no matter what we are, no matter what we have become...we never kill civilians. Never."

"Then who? Who has the access to that type of tech. We saw a Chinese sword that was sizzling with electricity. We have a report that a laser rifle managed to destroy a Securitron MK 2 with little to no difficulty at all. A Fat-Man that had just destroyed the Outpost with one strike. Maybe these are reasons why people are disappearing in the New California Republic. We have to find out."

"We are already on it. Brotherhood knights stationed at Black Mountain are intercepting radio signals, any kinds that we don't know of, and sending it to the Lucky 38, where the techs there are translating them. Hopefully that might provide some ins-" the Elder was cut off when two Army infantrymen came running from the south. Wearing desert brown combat armor, and armed with assault carbines, the two men were in a hurry.

"Sir!" they yelled. The Courier looked at them, both of them young and in their early twenties. Jake was a little younger.

"What do you guys need?" asked the Courier. He never berated his men, even if they did interrupt a meeting with one of the most powerful men in the Mojave.

"The radioman up in Northern Vegas, Sgt. Williams, wants to speak with you," one of them said.

"We came up here by foot from Boulder as runners. Our radio is broken and we could get up here faster than they could fix the radio," the other one said.

"Go get Specialist Sherman out of the tank. Tell him to bring the radio," he barked out at one of the Desert Marines. One of them snapped a salute before sprinting towards the tank, which was under the overpass. Moments later, a disheveled black man that was six foot even was walking briskly towards them, radio in hand.

"Here you go sir," and the Courier thanked him. Switching the radio to Sgt Williams channel, he held the radio to his ear. Static bit into his ear.

"Sgt Williams?" he asked into the radio and then the roar of automatic fire came screaming into his ear. Yells could be heard, and the cry of "Shoot them!" was heard. The roaring of a plane could be heard, and the cries of men echoed through the radio. Before he could comprehend what was going on, a female voice, harsh and unapologetic, was shouting into the radio.

"Jake! The Empire of Nevada attacked. We got tanks rolling in, transports, everything! Militia is being rolled over, we barely managed to stabilize the front! Nellis is under siege, and we got armor rolling down the I-95. We need reinforcements, anything!" came the cry from Sgt. Williams.

"Armor? Did you just say armor?" he said flabbergasted.

"Yes! Big black tanks with huge guns. They are advancing down the roads towards Goodsprings as well. The 1st Battalion has been holding up in Westside, I got the remnants of the 3rd and 5th holding up in North Vegas. The Boomers are raining down all kinds of explosives on them, but not before long they silence the guns. What can we do?" asked Sgt. Williams. The Courier pondered it. Nevada was full of all kinds of natural obstacles. The Colorado was a deep and fast running river, Lake Mead was his source of water. The West was protected by the Colorado, the east by the mountains. The north was full of nothing but desert between there and Carson.

_Of course. _Jake, as a kid, had read about a man by the name of Erwin "Desert Fox" Rommel. He was a man of mobility and fluidity. He used his forces in a offensive matter, outflanking his opponents and striking where they leased expected it.

"Have everyone continue to hold. Get a hold of Captain Winters in Camp McCarran. The armor there is to wait until I come there myself. Otherwise, everyone is to hold. How many have we lost?"

"About a couple hundred. We got air units circling the skies, fighting with the fighters from Nell-" but the voice was cut off again. This time, it was a gruff voice, full of hatred.

"Courier. I am the Emperor Morpheus. You have refused me. You refuse to submit to the rightful leader of the state of Nevada, you refused me in my offer to join our two states under mine. I have tried to be peaceful. Now I have one request. It is a simple request. If you refuse it, I will burn down your villages, torch your towns, and rape your city. New Vegas will burn, and the skies will cry for all the blood that is about to be shed. My armies will trample your Old War flag and cast you down like the dog you are. Now, will you surrender?" the voice asked. The Courier looked at the radio, then at the Brotherhood members and the Mojave infantry.

What the Courier had was a fast beating heart. He could surrender, give up his nation like a weakling and hopefully be spared a gruesome death. Maybe his people wouldn't be cast into slavery. The Empire was worst than the Legion; at least in the Legion if you were a child you wouldn't be killed. But the Empire had no morals. The Courier refused to go down without a fight. It wouldn't be the first time he faced the odds.

"Crow and Snake over the harsh desert, at each other's throats...but a light from Vegas? Slots spinning, more than just numbers and dollar signs. A city of corpses, towns of bodies, scattered over the long never ending sand. Forecast: Blood will rain down on the land once more, tainting it with its presence," the Courier was surprised to see the Forecaster, the little kid that lived underneath the overpass. He was next to the radio, speaking.

"Forecaster. It has been far too long since I have heard your voice," the voice on the radio spoke." Now Courier. What will it be? Death? Or defeat and death?"

The Courier spoke. The words that exemplified defiance and courage to the oppressors. Quoting the famous John Paul Jones.

"I have not yet begun to fight!"

And the War of the Nevada has begun. The Crow of the Mojave facing the Snake of the Empire of Nevada. The Courier looked at the Mojave, in all of it's peaceful scenery. The soft splash of the Colorado as they washed along the shores, the birds flying the sky. The soft desert sand and the high mountains that surrounded the land. The sun was dipping below the mountain ranges as the Courier looked on. He despised himself, but he had to what he had do. Just like what he did with Mr. House, the New California Republic, the Legion. War was coming once more. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

With that thought, he looked up into the desert sky as he saw three P-51 Mustangs fly by, their engines roaring. Flying in a V-shaped formation, he looked at him Pip-Boy. Turning the dial to the radio channels, he quickly turned to the New Vegas Radio.

"_Hello it's Mr. New Vegas, and yes, you are looking more beautiful today. Whoops, better put my newsman fedora on. Troubling news from the north, it seems that elements of the Imperial Nevada Army have struck key positions in the north. According to a military observer, the fighting has been rough. The Courier it seems, has another war on his hands. What seems to be a deadly conflict might be averted if the Courier agrees to quote'surrender the nation.' More news coming up. But for now, we got some Dean Martin talking about the greatest feeling in the world.: love. Ain't that a Kick in the Head. It sure is Dean-O, it sure is."_

**Sorry for all the quotes. I just wanted to get the point across that war is going to happen for the Courier. He's got a lot on his plate doesn't he? The Empire of Nevada extends from Carson City to the northern border of the Mojave state. Please read and review. Not my best chapter. **


End file.
